


The Worst Damsel

by HeartlessMemo



Series: The Worst Damsel [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Damsels in Distress, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, OFC - Freeform, Smut, annoyed by each other to lovers, mentions sex work, sassy damsel, traveling companions to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22091848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessMemo/pseuds/HeartlessMemo
Summary: The Witcher has taken on a traveling companion: the damsel in distress he rescued from near certain death and/or torture in No Charge. The only problem is she has a lot more attitude than your typical damsel.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Worst Damsel [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590148
Comments: 22
Kudos: 173





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read by itself as the first part of a new series or as a sequel series to [No Charge](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22088350). In this follow up I feel like I’ve found my voice again. It was very fun to write!

“Aren’t damsels in distress meant to be wilting, gentle flowers, overcome with gratitude for their rescuers?” Geralt bit the words out, baring his teeth in an annoyed sneer.

Bethany sneered right back at him, “Aren’t rescuers meant to be chivalrous and noble, respectful and admiring of the female sex?!!”

Geralt lunged forward, grabbing the fabric at the back of her dress, miming as if he pinched her bottom. Bethany snarled and wiggled in his grasp which only served to increase his amusement.

“Why, my lady,” he growled into her ear, stubble rasping against her cheek. “I do admire you greatly, especially the round parts. And as for respect,” he drew back and gestured to the red nail scratches across his cheek, “I’ve the greatest respect for your aim. But your dramatics will not change the situation one bit. This is the only place in town that’ll have us.”

Bethany and Geralt, the unlikeliest traveling companions to come through town in many years, were standing in the darkened corner of a taproom. A taproom which also served as the lounge for the town’s popular and raucous brothel, The Scarlet Kiss. 

Bethany gritted her teeth. 

“You didn’t even check anywhere else!” she accused, jabbing her finger into his chest. The affect was somewhat dampened when she hurt her finger on his heavy chest armor and flinched back, “Ouch!”

Geralt’s smirk softened to a gentle smile and he took her hand in his, cradling it. 

“I’ve been through here before, Beth. Many times. I know where I’m welcome and where I’m not.”

Seeing his softened aspect Bethany let out a long breath and asked somewhat primly, “And you’re sure your desire to renew old acquaintances in this establishment has nothing to do with it?”

Geralt laughed and bowed his head over her hand to place a soft kiss on her fingertip. Bethany shivered at the touch of his lips and held her breath awaiting his reply. She knew, just *knew*, that the Witcher could read her face like an open book. He must know she’d been developing annoying, horrid, unmistakable *feelings* for him despite her best efforts. And despite her logical mind telling her that Geralt was a worldly man who certainly had utilized the services of a brothel in the past…she still couldn’t bear the thought of him holding another woman in his arms. He caught her gaze as he lifted his head and she saw him read it all on her face as plain as day. 

And still he would be a *prick* about it.

“Well, my lady, I did not say I would not *enjoy* our stay here, did I?”

“Oh!” she shouted in frustration and stomped one dainty foot on the tip of his boot. The Witcher yelped and hopped around in exaggerated misery. It helped a bit.

“Fine,” she relented. “But I want a bar for the door of my room.”

***

After securing two rooms they took their dinner at a long communal table toward the back of the lounge. They sat on benches across from one another and Geralt quickly drew attention in the form of flirtatious glances and passing touches from the brothel’s workers. Bethany rolled her eyes and feigned a remarkable interest in her stew while watching from beneath her lowered lashes.

She wasn’t a snob. She didn’t feel superior to these women or to anyone despite being brought up as the daughter of a rich merchant. She supposed being thrown out and accused of demonic possession by said merchant might have had something to do with her humbleness. But it hurt her to see the Witcher so cavalier, so unfeeling toward her. She knew she had no claim on him and no reason to begrudge him anything. Indeed, he’d taken her under his wing after rescuing her from the oubliette in Lord Raskan’s estate. She was obliged to leave the village where she’d grown up, the only home she’d ever known, all because she’d spurned the advances of a marginally powerful lord. She had nothing of her own and no place to seek refuge. Geralt was the only person in an age who had shown her any kindness. To an outsider her obstinance, her outrage at him over the brothel might seem ungrateful. She wasn’t ungrateful. He’d won her gratitude and her heart. The problem was he didn’t seem to want them. No, it amused him to have her as a kind of pet. That was all.

She sighed into her stew as a long-legged redhead perched on the Witcher’s lap and leaned close to whisper in his ear, effectively presenting him with her cleavage. Geralt’s hands clutched at the lady beneath the table and she gave a squeal of delight. Bethany thought she might gag.

“Geralt,” she proclaimed in clipped tones. “I’m tired, will you show me to my room?”

He slowly drew back from the redhead who was sporting a vicious pout and glaring at Bethany out of his eyesight. 

“Of course, my lady. Just a moment,” he said before dipping down to lav his tongue along the whore’s chest. “Wait a moment for me, Pru, will you?”

The whore nodded and scooted back onto the bench with a victorious glare at Bethany. Bethany pretended not to notice and stood up to wait by the foot of the stairs. Geralt rose and his massive frame seemed to dwarf the rest of the room. Despite herself, Bethany felt a catch in her throat at the sight of him. He was magnificent. And he was meant to be hers, damn it! Wasn’t that how it worked on all the stories?

As they climbed the stairs and entered the less crowded corridor of bedchambers above she watched the lines of his posture loosen. When it was like this, just the two of them alone together, he was softer, less abrasive and showy than he was downstairs. She wished she could bottle this version of him and sneak a whiff of it whenever he was being particularly annoying or careless. 

He stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall, “This one’s yours. Mine’s just next door so if you need anything just call for me and I’ll hear you.”

A sudden, loud cry of ecstasy came from one of the rooms up the hall. 

“Well,” he said with a smirk, “You may have to speak up.”

He lingered for a moment, his hands hovering in midair as if he meant to embrace her but wasn’t decided yet. For once she read the expression on his face: he was stricken at the separation, however slight it might be. They’d been sharing a bedroll on the road for the last several nights before making it into town and he still felt responsible for her safety. She could hardly be in more danger here than in the wilderness. And yet.

The Witcher gave a characteristic grunt and lowered his hands to his sides. 

“Goodnight, Beth,” he whispered.

“Goodnight,” she said opening the door to her room and stepping inside. “Geralt.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bethany is in her early 20s. This chapter mentions that she is still a virgin so I wanted to be clear about her age. I imagine that her father was very overbearing and didn't allow her the freedom to have many friends or chances for romance outside the household.  
> My eternal gratitude to everyone who has left comments and kudos. Reader support is what keeps fic authors going.

Not only did Bethany have to suffer the indignity of rooming in a brothel she was soon to discover that the walls of this establishment were alarmingly thin. After the Witcher left her to return to his wench downstairs she undressed down to her shift and found herself lying awake disturbed by the moans of pleasure coming from somewhere down the hall.

“Ugh,” she snorted in disgust and tucked herself under a surprisingly plush quilt. At least she wouldn’t freeze. There was a friendly little fire crackling in the small hearth across from the bed and despite everything Bethany found her eyelids growing heavy as sleep teased around the edges of her mind. 

The unmistakable sound of the Witcher’s door banging open accompanied by an obnoxious female giggle snapped her out of her slumber. Despite being mentally prepared for disappointment she couldn’t stop her mouth from falling open in horror. Was he *really* bringing a whore to the room right next door to hers? Surely he realized she’d be subjected to listening to the encounter through the brothel’s paper thin walls? Was that his intention...to make her jealous for his own amusement? She’d heard that Witchers were devoid of human emotions but she’d didn’t think Geralt could be capable of such casual cruelty. Well, she chastised herself, she didn’t really know him that well after only several days’ acquaintance. 

She cringed at the sound of a loud thump followed by Geralt’s low bass voice rumbling in a pleased groan. A feminine voice responded in kind followed by more moans and a gradual build up of rhythmic thumps that sounded so close Bethany was certain that Geralt’s bed must be pushed up against the wall just as hers was. She turned away from the wall and forced her eyes shut trying to block out the rest of the world.

The sounds went on. And on. And on. Though Bethany was still a maiden herself she had an idea of the usual way of things and frankly marveled at the Witcher’s stamina...and the wench’s for that matter. Then she blushed at her own unvirtuous thoughts and went back to trying to block everything out.

***

By the end of their third round he had the whore pinned to the bed and was thrusting madly away at her while the woman shrieked encouragement. His lust-clouded mind had no room for logical thought. He was driven by a wild need. It was only afterwards as he slumped down onto the bedclothes beside Pru that he came gradually back to himself. 

Three days. Three days he’d spent in the saddle with Beth’s plump little bottom pressed up against his cock. Three nights with her soft form pressed against him for warmth on a single bed roll. Three whole days traveling with the woman who despite her distressed circumstances was still a virtuous maiden undeserving of the unworthy, lustful desires he harbored for her. It was enough to drive any man mad. 

With no outlet for his pent up energy he’d expelled it in his usual way by subjecting the poor thing to his acerbic dark moods and by making bawdy remarks calculated to unnerve the virgin. And still she’d developed her little infatuation for him. Anyone could see it. And had they been moored alone together in a vast wilderness for much longer he may very well have given in to his base instincts and taken the girl. Thank god for whores.

Pru swung her legs over the side of the bed and began matter-of-factly pulling on her dress and hose. She caught his glance over her shoulder and raised an expectant brow. The Witcher sat up, digging around in his pile of clothing until he came upon his purse and plucked out a few coins. He snaked a thickly muscled arm around her waist, presenting her with the pay and laying a sharp little bite into her shoulder as he did so. She swotted him away but he could see a satisfied little smirk on her face as she did so.

Geralt leaned back into the pillows as she stood to leave. 

“Thanks, Pru,” he said, his eyes already drifting closed. “That was just what I needed.”

“Anytime, Witcher,” the whore called out as she slammed his door.

For a moment he lay in serenity on the cusp of sleep. He was finally rid of the repressed need that had sat low in his belly the whole ride here. A soft sound from the other side of the wall disturbed him and he cracked an eye inquisitively. In an instant his mood sank as he recognized the soft, muffled sounds of weeping coming from Bethany’s room. The Witcher let out a long benighted sigh and lay still for a moment examining his reaction. He was not meant to experience human emotions like guilt. Feelings were liabilities that would only cause problems. But he’d always said they’d done a botched job making him. For no matter how hard he tried to remain aloof he could not bear for an innocent woman to cry. Especially not over him. 

With a groan he sat up and started fishing around for his pants.

***

A sudden knock on her door startled Bethany and she heard the Witcher’s voice, “Beth, open up, please.”

She shook her head and rasped out a reply, “N-no. It isn’t decent!”

She heard the Witcher snort on the other side of the door and clenched her fists in irritation. 

“Decent, Beth? We’re in a whore house for gods’ sake. Open up!”

She got up and hissed her answer into the door, “Go away!”

She heard him let out an aggrieved sigh and then jumped back with a shriek as the heavy bar bolting her door shut began to move on its own accord. She fled back to her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. Geralt shut the door behind him.

“You’re incorrigible!” she declared as he seated himself on the edge of her bed. The mattress sank under his weight. The man really was too big to be allowed.

Geralt sat in silence just watching her. Now that he was here he had no idea what to say. The girl stared back at him expectantly and tried for an imperious tone, “Well?”

Irritation flashed across his face and all thoughts of comforting her flew from his mind. He shook his head with a bitter laugh, “What is it with you, Beth? Ever since we came to town you’ve been acting like the high queen brought low. I’ve done my best by you.”

Bethany narrowed her eyes at him and hissed, “And you did your best by *Pru,* I’m sure.”

The Witcher raised his eyes toward the ceiling and spat out, “I’m not a knight from a story, Beth. We’re not going to get married and rule a kingdom together. I’m a Witcher. I kill monsters and I get paid. When I’m hungry, I eat and when I’m in the mood to take a woman into my bed then I do so. With no apologies to anyone. No, the only way I’ve strayed lately is to rescue an ungrateful chit from a hole in the ground when I should have walked away.”

Bethany opened her mouth to make her reply but found that words had abandoned her. She could only manage a pitiful squeak of outrage and a dark glare. 

Silence fell upon the room for a long moment. They stared at each other, rage and hurt flashed through the air between them. And something more. Something very annoying.

Geralt shook his head in resignation and muttered under his breath, “Well...fuck.”

And with that he cut through the space between them and was suddenly *kissing* her. Bethany froze in shock. Geralt hovered over her on hands and knees effectively caging her body with his and pinning her beneath the quilt. His lips seared against hers, claiming her with his mouth. It was passionate and angry at first and then soft and caressing and then scorched by desperation. It was nothing like she expected for her first kiss. His massive hands crept upward to cradle her cheeks as he deepened the kiss, brushing his tongue along her full lips and then plunging inside. 

It was never ending and everything. All of Bethany’s senses were taken over until her whole world was encompassed in this kiss. She lost herself in it for a time. Until she felt his hands begin to travel lower, dragging the quilt down to reveal her body to him. Then her thoughts snapped back into place and she turned aside with a muttered exclamation, “You...you!”

“Me?” the Witcher asked leaning back. His silver white hair was adorably mussed and his expression was all confusion. Ugh. 

“You can’t come from a whore’s embrace directly into mine! Go back to your room!”

The Witcher sat back on his haunches and regarded her with a haughty expression, “Excuse me, my lady. For mistaking your enthusiasm. Good night.”

***

Bethany fell back against her pillow feeling...well, she didn’t know how she felt. She lay there staring at the ceiling for a long time, not thinking anything in particular just exploring her emotions. The corner of her lips tugged upward in an unmistakable smile as she finally drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and hardly any Geralt-- oops! But I did enjoy writing Pru and Bethany interacting together...

Geralt spent the next morning meeting with the Castellan about a drowner thought to be inhabiting the pond at the grist mill on the edge of town. Bethany headed to the market with a generous purse provided by the Witcher in order to purchase new traveling clothes and supplies for herself. It was unclear to her what the future held. Did Geralt intend to keep her with him in his travels? Or would he leave her here to fend for herself? He had been kindly generous to her so far, but there was no obligation on him to provide for her future welfare. Her thoughts were troubled as she walked back to The Scarlet Kiss that afternoon.

The lounge was nearly empty when she walked inside, just a few girls and a grandly dressed woman who was the brothel’s mistress. They glanced up as she entered but looked away almost instantly upon realizing she was not a potential customer. She felt how awkward and unwanted she must be here. Not a customer nor a worker–what good was she?

She approached the older woman and shyly started, “Ma’am…?”

The woman looked up with an arched brow. She was in her fifties but she had clearly taken care of herself. Her hair was blond streaked with gray, her face was lined but clean and smooth. Her gown was extravagant and not nearly as revealing as the outfits worn by the working girls. 

“My name,” the woman replied, “is Mistress Marion. And what may I do for you, Witcher’s Pet?”

Bethany blanched at the woman’s cruel tone, but pressed on, “I only wondered whether there was some place I might bathe?”

She was shown downstairs to a tiny basement room where there were several tubs lined up against a wall and a cheerily simmering cauldron of hot water with which to fill them. Bethany thanked Mistress Marion and dipped into an awkward curtsy. The Mistress rolled her eyes and turned to leave without comment. 

“Don’t mind her,” a voice spoke from behind her causing Bethany to start violently. She turned to see that one of the tubs was occupied…by none other than that woman who’d been with Geralt last night. Pru.

“She just doesn’t know where she stands with yeh and it makes it her irritable. She doesn’t know whether to curtsy or put yeh to work,” Pru laughed.

Bethany shrugged bemusedly and went about setting down her parcels from the market and filling a tub with steaming hot water. The thought of a hot bath was positively delicious and she wouldn’t let the awkwardness she felt at being confronted with Geralt’s erstwhile lover ruin the pleasure of it. Once the tub was tolerably full she began to shyly disrobe. She’d only ever undressed in front of her mother and their servant. She felt the warmth from the fire hug her skin as her shift pooled at her feet.

Pru let out a sound of approval, “Not bad, girl. I can see why the Witcher keeps you around.”

Bethany stepped into the hot water and quickly folded into a sitting position to hide herself from the other woman.

“My name is Bethany,” she replied, choosing to ignore the comment on her appearance. She let out a pleased groan as the hot water enveloped her body. 

“I’m that pleased to meet yeh, Bethany,” Pru said with a genuine smile.

Bethany didn’t know how to respond. She smiled back vaguely and began scrubbing the grime from her body. After the whore’s pointed glares last night Bethany hadn’t expected polite conversation. They went on in silence for a bit, the only sounds in the room the quiet splashes of water from the tubs and the crackle of fire under the cauldron. 

At length Pru spoke up again, “You know…,” she began, “It didn’t mean nothin’…me lyin’ with your man, I mean. Sometimes men…they need to release what’s burnin’ up inside ‘em. It’s not pretty or gentle… Not the kind of thing a man like Geralt would want to do to an innocent lady…” here she gave a light chuckle observing the rivulets of dirt sloughing from Bethany’s face and arms, “even if she is covered muck.”

Bethany turned to her and frowned, “Why are you telling me this?”

The whore sighed dramatically and sank lower into the tub, sloshing water over the sides, “Because I saw the way you watched him last night. I’ve seen that look before when a girl gets too attached. You’re smitten. Can’t say I blame yeh, the man is gorgeous even if all he does is grumble and glare. And I’m tryin’ to tell yeh–it’s not that he doesn’t care. They say Witcher’s have no feelings but I’ve seen the look in his eyes before, too. He does care for yeh, Bethany. Too much. He doesn’t want to do wrong by yeh.”

Bethany stared at the woman for a moment, taking her measure and trying to determine if her words were genuine.

“Mhmm…” she grumbled, making a fair impersonation of the Witcher himself. “Well, how do I convince him to…do me wrong, then?”

Pru smirked and a gleam of anticipation lit in her eyes, “Now we’re talkin’. You’ve come to the right place.”

She sat up, resting her chin on her forearms along the edge of the tub, “Listen to me, darlin’, and your Witcher won’t be able to resist yeh…”


	4. Chapter 4

Geralt returned to The Scarlet Kiss stinking like he’d just gone swimming in sewage. He had just been swimming in sewage but the drowner was vanquished and he’d been paid so there was a smile on his face as he stalked through the busy lounge. 

Pru leaned over the bar in conversation with Mistress Marion. The Witcher tried to sneak an arm around her waist as he passed but she swotted him away, nose wrinkled with disgust at the stench of him.

“Ugh, off to the baths with you, Witcher! And don’t even think about bothering us girls tonight–you’ll never get that smell out of your manky hair,” Pru shouted at him as he descended the steps leading to the basement bathroom.

He sank into the tub with a groan of pleasure. The steaming hot water cleansed the filth from his skin and hugged his aching muscles. With a weary sigh he lay his head back against the rim of the tub and shut his eyes. He could almost fall asleep like this in the soft heat with just the crackle of the fire as a lullaby. The sound of soft footsteps on the stairs faded into the background and he didn’t bother to lift his eyelids until he felt feminine hands trace along the lines of his shoulders and upper arms. 

“Mhmmm,” he grunted and opened his eyes to see Bethany kneeling by the side of the tub sponge in hand and looking disarmingly eager.

“Beth,” he grumbled, shutting his eyes again. “What are you doing?”

She plunged the sponge beneath the surface of the water and began stroking it over the aching muscles of his arms. She let the tips of her fingers drag along his skin as she did so and he moaned involuntarily. For all he’d laid with a whore last night, he was starved for the freely given touch of a woman.

Bethany leaned down until her lips traced the outer edge of his ear and whispered, “Let me take care of you.”

The Witcher groaned in response and let himself luxuriate in the feel of her soapy hands tracing along his shoulders, arms and chest. He gave a half-hearted objection, “You don’t know what you’re starting, Beth.”

The girl reached out a hand and cupped Geralt’s cheek, turning him to look her in the eyes.

“I know exactly what I’m starting,” she stated with a look that was at once serious and heated by desire. “Geralt, you must know how I feel for you. You can read my face like an open book. You must know how I long–”

“I’m not right for you, Beth. I’m not meant to settle down with a respectable lady. I can’t give you that life. I can’t–I can’t give you a family,” the last was said with a crack in his voice and he turned away, jaw clenched. 

Bethany pressed on, “I don’t want all that, Geralt. Not if it means I can’t have you…can’t keep you.”

She leaned over the tub, the sponge dropping forgotten onto the floor, and captured his lips in a kiss. This time it was she claiming his mouth, marking him as *hers.* She’d listened with rapt attention as Pru described just what to do. How to run her tongue along the plump edge of his lower lip, how to graze it with her teeth and nibble at it until he gasped, and then how to deepen the kiss, stroking his tongue with hers. In a moment of inspiration she climbed all the way over the edge of the tub and stepped into the water still wearing her shift. She straddled his hips and gasped when she felt the rigid hardness of him under the water. 

Geralt took her upper arms in a firm grip and held her at bay.

“Not here,” he said, there was a desperate edge to his voice. “Meet me in my room. Go.”

Bethany fled up the steps and dashed through the crowded lounge in nothing but her soaking wet shift. She was met by a roar of laughter and applause from Pru and a few other girls. She felt her face heat with a blush and hurried up the staircase to their rooms.

***

She was laying naked on his bed when Geralt finally entered the room. She looked like an offering, a sacrifice laid out for his pleasure. With a flick of his wrist the door slammed behind him and the Witcher approached the bed. He pulled his tunic over his head, revealing the harsh lines of his powerful torso. Bethany drew in a sharp breath. Something about the sight of the dark chest hair that flowed all the way to the waist of his pants was intensely erotic. He was a man. Not like that pathetic lordling who’d tried to capture and torture her into accepting him. Not like the weak boys who’d left posies and notes beneath her bedroom window. Geralt was simply raw, masculine energy made flesh. He bared his teeth at her in a snarl before taking her lips with his. She’d been in charge in the basement. Now things had changed.

His hands went to her plump breasts, squeezing gently and dragging his rough palms over the sensitive flesh of her nipples. Bethany let a surprised gasp. No one had ever touched her in such a way before. She’d never known that such feelings were possible. No wonder the poets wrote songs for this and kingdoms went to war for this. She turned her face into the pillow and moaned low in her throat. The Witcher’s hands strayed lower, ghosting over her soft belly and teasingly making their way between her thighs.

“Beth,” he whispered, voice ragged with lust. “Is this…is this really what you want? You’re sure? Because once we start, I don’t think I’ll be able to…”

“Yes,” she gasped, arching into his touch as a single finger delved into her core. “I want this… I want you. I want to be yours.”

“Fuck,” Geralt groaned as if she’d spoken magic words. His fingers between her legs picked up speed and set a punishing pace that left her sobbing in pleasure so intense it was edging over into pain. It built and built; she felt like a taut rope about to snap. And then she did. As Beth quivered with the rush of sensation at her own release she felt the Witcher shift his hips until he was lined up, flush with her pelvis and pushing forward. The feel of him entering her was like a sudden invasion. There was discomfort at first but as he moved inside her the feeling faded and she felt deliciously full. She’d been craving this feeling without even knowing what she was craving. His pace started out measured and slow. He cradled her in his strong arms and laid kisses over her cheeks and neck. She ran her palms down his sweat slicked back and reached down to cup his buttocks, pressing him more firmly against her. 

“Beth,” he gasped into her ear. His voice quivered and his muscles shook. She’d never seen him so undone and she felt her heart filled with emotion. Since she’d known him he’d kept her at arm’s length. Only giving away glimpses of the man beneath the armor. Now he was completely naked before her in more ways than one and she delighted in it. She hugged her legs around his waist and urged him on. He picked up pace, rocking his hips in increasingly jagged motions until she felt him shake and stutter with the power of his climax.

He lowered himself until he was laying half on her and half on the bed. Beth groaned and pushed him all the way off saying with a laugh, “You’re crushing me!”

The Witcher lay his head on the pillow beside Beth’s and watched her with eyes sparking with amusement and something else. He lifted a hand and ran his fingers along the edge of her jaw. 

“Beth,” he said and it sounded like a prayer, like a tribute.

“Geralt,” she replied and even without the edge of emotion breaking in her voice he would have been able to read her feelings on her face clear as day.

“You know,” the Witcher said in a voice laced with mischief. He gathered her in his arms and hugged her against his warm body. “If I’d known this was how damsels are accustomed to thanking their rescuers I would have gotten into this whole dashing knight thing long ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. That's the fic. Thank you so much for reading!


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